


A Different Kind of Hero

by goldstandard



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Minor Gun Violence, blue collar foggy, foggy being a nice guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/pseuds/goldstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy accidentally starts a general fix-it hotline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Hero

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I had posted this here but I guess I didn't so this is an old fill for the Daredevil Kinkmeme:
> 
> So after the whole thing with Fisk dies down, Foggy decides that he's going to take a page from Matt's playbook and try to make his city a better place. But he doesn't want to be breaking the law while doing it (like Matt is) and also wants to honor Elena Cardenas' memory at the same time. So while Matt's out beating criminals to a pulp, Foggy's out fixing up busted plumbing, delivering groceries to those who can't afford it or go out and get their own, dispensing free legal advice to anyone who needs it, etc. Eventually, while Daredevil becomes the local hero in the eyes of the rest of the world, inside the city when people refer to "the hero of Hell's Kitchen" it's a 50/50 chance they're referring to Foggy instead of Matt.
> 
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/5006.html?thread=9301902#cmt9301902
> 
> Not beta'ed.

It all starts with Bess Mahoney.

(Technically, it stems from Foggy’s father owning a hardware store but that’s neither here nor there.)

Bess is the one who sends Mrs. Cardenas their way and with a simple, “Is this Senor Foggy Law?” (which is now his contact name in Karen’s phone) Foggy’s entire life is changed. And he doesn’t mean in the ‘I found out my best friend is an illegal vigilante and we took down Fisk’ kind of way.

“Hand me the wrench, Bess,” Foggy says from underneath her kitchen sink.

Bess places the appropriate tool into his outstretched, waiting hand and then goes back to fretting by the stove.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to get it?” Bess sighs. “I can’t believe I lost my grandmother’s ring down the drain.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it, no worries,” Foggy replies as he unscrews the nut joining the p-trap to the tailpiece. A small amount of water spills out into the bowl he strategically placed as he shimmies out from underneath the counter, p-trap held tightly in hand.

With the help of the kitchen light, Foggy retrieves the ring and holds it up with flourish to Bess.

“See! Told you – nothing to worry about.”

Bess gasps in delight and quickly grabs the ring from Foggy. She spends the rest of his visit gushing about how wonderful he is and how she’ll repay him with several home cooked meals.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Bess.” Foggy pauses in the front doorway. “Or, if you know anyone else who needs some help.”

Bess takes him up on that offer only twenty-four hours later.

“Mrs. Stevenson, from church, her bedroom window won’t shut properly and it’s getting close to winter.”

So, Foggy finds himself in Mrs. Stevenson’s tiny apartment wrestling with a twenty-year-old metal frame.

“And why isn’t your landlord fixing this?”

Mrs. Stevenson wrings her hands and shrugs with eyes pointed towards the floor.

Foggy pauses in his losing fight with the frame and takes a good hard look around the apartment. It’s a bit musty but Foggy finds most older homes have that smell. Paint is chipping and peeling on the walls with a couple water stains gracing the popcorn ceiling. The carpet looks like it’s original, worn down and fraying in heavy traffic areas.

“When was the last time your landlord did any upkeep?”

Mrs. Stevenson’s face lights up at that question.

“He gave me a new fridge a couple months ago.”

Foggy takes a look at the fridge and it’s secondhand at best. With an off-yellow tint to the door with brown handles it looks like it’s from the eighties. Foggy is afraid to ask what her previous fridge looked like.

“I’ll look into some tenancy laws and get back to you, Mrs. Stevenson. Your landlord should be doing a lot more work than he has been for you.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Stevenson says, watching her cat stretch in the middle of the kitchen table. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Foggy frowns and goes back to fixing her window without another word. He eventually gets it to shut properly.

“Your landlord should provide you with some plastic sheets you can blow-dry onto the window – it’ll help keep the cold air out.”

Mrs. Stevenson nods but Foggy knows even if she does ask her landlord nothing will get done. That’s how Foggy finds himself running to the closest general store and buying a couple window insulator kits for her.

Slowly, word of mouth starts to spread from Bess’ church friends to their friends and family and soon enough Foggy is typically getting a call a day about home repairs or even general legal advice.

“No, Mr. Douglas, if there’s nothing in the lease about pets then your neighbor can keep his Chihuahua,” Foggy states for about the fifth time into his phone while Matt stands in the doorway of Foggy’s office with a very confused look on his face.

“Look, fine, bring me the lease when Lisa brings by those cornbread muffins and I’ll go through it.” Foggy rubs his forehead tiredly. “Alright, you too, bye.”

“I didn’t know we had a case about pets,” Matt says before the phone receiver is hitting the base.

“We don’t, it’s-“ Foggy sighs and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. “A friend of a friend just needed some quick advice about their lease, that’s all.”

Matt hums noncommittally but Foggy isn’t lying so no radar alarms should be going off in that head of his.

“Anyways, you want something?” Foggy asks to change topics and Matt must take pity on him because he starts talking about their actual real case with no further prompting.

Foggy doesn’t really think twice about what he’s doing until Claire calls him out of the blue one evening.

“Claire? Is Matt okay?” Foggy asks as soon as he answers his phone.

“Foggy?” she responds, sounding confused which makes Foggy confused because did she not realize she was calling him? “Matt’s fine, as far as I know. Is this your number? Wait – how did you know it was me?”

“Stole it from the burner,” Foggy easily replies because it’s the truth. “Why are you calling me if Matt’s okay?”

There’s a small pause of silence and he knows Claire is mulling over her answer.

“I got your number from my mother,” she finally says and Foggy thinks this might be the most confusing conversation he’s ever had.

“And why does your mother have my phone number?”

“Look,” Claire huffs into the phone, already on the defensive. “I need help with a couple legal documents and my mother gave me this phone number saying that this guy can fix my house up while giving me some legal advice for free.”

“Oh,” Foggy breathes into the phone.

“And I don’t need anything done to my place but I don’t understand all these codes the document is referring to.”

Foggy waits a beat before saying, “You do know that Matt is a bona fide lawyer, right?”

Claire gives a short laugh.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to cross the streams.”

Foggy chuckles before setting up a time to meet up with Claire to go through the documents far away from Matt and their office.

The frequency of phone calls grow to the point that Foggy seriously considers going the Matt Murdock route and decides to get a second phone. He’s perusing the different pay as you go phone options at his usual grocery store when he overhears a couple talking down the way.

“Angela said this guy does good work,” the woman is saying.

“A guy going around giving free legal advice? And he’ll fix your broken coffee table in the meantime? Sounds sketchy,” replies the man.

Foggy tries to discreetly look at them from the corner of his eye, no longer paying attention to the different features the phone in his hand has. The couple is probably mid-thirties, wearing casual clothing and looking nothing out of the ordinary.

“How is that sketchy?” the woman asks, sounding a bit incredulous.

“Well, either this guy has some sort of law degree or he’s been in enough legal trouble to know the law fairly well. If he has a law degree, then why the hell isn’t he trying to make any money on this? And I don’t think I need to explain my second point.”

“Maybe,” the woman wheedles, looping her arm through the mans and leaning most of her body weight into him. “He’s just a good Samaritan.”

The couple starts wandering away as the man laughs.

“Honey, there is no such thing a Good Samaritan in this world. There are just people looking to get ahead of the game.”

Foggy frowns at the man’s pessimism and at the fact they’ve now gone out of earshot so Foggy can’t catch what the woman’s retort to that would be.

It doesn’t really hit Foggy that they were talking about him the way people talk about Daredevil until he’s swiping his credit card at the checkout.

“I think I’ve made a huge mistake,” Foggy says once Matt opens his apartment door.

“That’s usually my line,” Matt replies while standing back to let Foggy in. “What you got there?”

Foggy drops the plastic bag onto the coffee table and falls onto the couch.

“Burner phone.”

Matt raises an eyebrow and settles down next to Foggy.

“Is that your huge mistake?” A grin spreads across his face. “Do you now have too many ladies you need a second phone?”

“Hardy har har,” Foggy says sarcastically. “I actually need it now for the same reason you do.”

“What?” Matt asks in a flat tone. “Foggy, what have you-?”

“Nothing like that,” Foggy cuts him off. “I’m not going to be your next sidekick. I just.” Foggy sighs. “I started helping people out with little things. Like home repairs and a couple legal tips. But now it’s snowballed into a side job and my number being passed around like a bowl of Doritos at a Super Bowl Sunday.”

Matt is quiet and Foggy just stares at the floor. His phone takes the opportunity to go off and he sighs again before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, I got your number from my friend,” says a woman, a loud screeching coming from the background on her end. Foggy watches Matt flinch at the noise.

“And what can I do for you?” He tries to keep his voice lighter – it’s not the poor random stranger’s fault they need help.

“My son’s crib basically just fell apart and he won’t stop crying and I know you can’t help with that but I don’t know anything about cribs, or much of anything really. And my ex is the one who built it but he fucking bailed, that no good son of a bitch, so-“

“Hold on, it’s okay,” Foggy says softly as the woman starts to work herself up which causes her child to scream at an even higher decibel Foggy didn’t think possible. “Give me your address. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

“Oh, thank you so much, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Foggy says, as he always does to those who call him for help. He gets her address and hangs up.

“Huh,” Matt says, obviously a bit stunned.

“Yup.”

“You have made a huge mistake.”

“Yup.”

Foggy can’t remember the last time he got a decent night’s sleep. Most people who call him are nice enough not to call in the middle of the night unless there’s a huge emergency and they can’t afford a plumber or electrician or what have you to come. However, most of his work takes up his evenings and sometimes go well into the night. He’s well fed by almost everyone he helps so he can’t complain on that front. Foggy just wishes he had some time to himself to kick back, drink some beer, watch Netflix, and fall asleep at a normal time.

“I heard some guys talking about you last night,” Matt says one day during lunch. They’re crowded around Karen’s desk, sharing different containers of Indian food.

“Oh? Hopefully nothing bad,” Foggy replies between bites of tandoori chicken.

“They thought you were the next best thing. Called you the hero of Hell’s Kitchen and everything.”

Foggy chokes a bit on his food and Karen smacks his back a bit to help dislodge it from his throat.

“What?” he croaks and Matt just nods.

“That’s sweet,” Karen says. “You’re doing great work out there. With you and Daredevil, Hell’s Kitchen is going to be the best place to live in New York.”

Matt laughs a little too loud at her words.

“It’s true,” Karen continues, a bit defensively. “I have been helped by both and I rate ten out of ten, would recommend.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Foggy says softly, on behalf of himself and Matt.

~

Foggy starts to believe he gets things under control. He prioritizes his calls and doesn’t push himself to get everything done the minute he gets a call. This new strategy still keeps him out until eight or nine at night and he still lives mainly off the food people give him in thanks but he’s managed to get through the first season of Breaking Bad on Netflix so it’s not a complete loss.

He still misses going to Josie’s with Karen and Matt but he tries to keep things in perspective. If Matt can run around at all hours of the night beating people up in the name of the greater good then Foggy can keep on fixing old ladies sewing machines.

“Nelson’s General Fix-it Hotline, what can I do for you?” Foggy cheerfully says into the phone one night. It’s his first call of the day, they’re making headway on their case, and he’s in a great mood.

Nobody responds. All that reaches his ears is harsh breathing. He pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. The phone number is local but he doesn’t recognize it. The screen flashes to inform him the call has ended.

Foggy frowns but decides not to worry. Probably some prank call by someone who found the number on a bus stop.

He settles in with the chicken lasagna David Adamson had sent home with him the night before to watch more Netflix when his phone rings.

“Nelson’s ‘You Break It I Fix It’ Hotline, how can I help you?”

The heavy breathing is back.

“Look,” Foggy sighs. “Do you need help or not?”

The silence becomes deadening so Foggy quickly looks at the screen to see the phone call has been terminated again.

“Fucking hooligans,” Foggy mutters to himself and throws the phone down onto the cushion next to him.

He’s twenty minutes into his TV show when the phone is ringing for the third time, flashing the same name as the previous two at him.

“Yes?” Foggy answers with, tired of wasting good slogans on pranksters.

It’s turned into more of a panting now and Foggy hopes somebody isn’t masturbating to his voice.

“Look, whoever you are, please stop calling me unless you have an emergency.”

Foggy waits for an answer that isn’t vulgar. He gets one in the form of a nasally chuckle that starts off slow but quickly turns high pitched and maniacal. Foggy hangs up and decides to not answer that number again.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Karen asks as soon as Foggy is trudging into the office the next morning.

He half-heartedly shrugs and shuffles into his office. The whole night his phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was all from the same number and no matter how many times Foggy ignored it or yelled at them to stop they wouldn’t stop calling.

“Why didn’t you just turn off the phone?” Matt asks once Foggy explains what happened.

“And what if someone called with an emergency? Actually needed help?” Foggy retorted, running a hand through his greasy hair. He hadn’t risked a shower that morning for fear of falling asleep and drowning or banging his head off the tile.

Matt makes a noise that Foggy knows is his ‘I don’t want to agree with you but you do make a point’ noise.

“Any idea who it could’ve been?” Matt prompts.

Foggy shakes his head and contemplates another cup of coffee.

“I’ll talk to Brett. Give him the number although I doubt he’ll be able to do much.”

Matt idly plays with a pencil on Foggy’s desk, rolling it back and forth between two fingers, occasionally spinning it.

“When was the last time they called?”

“6:14 this morning,” Foggy reads off the phone. “Nothing since so either they work nights or finally decided to give up.”

“Well,” Matt states with an air of finality. “Next time they call, let me know.”

“I doubt even you can track down an anonymous caller.”

Matt gives him a look before retreating from Foggy’s office to his own. Foggy just rolls his eyes and decides another coffee is definitely in order.

The inappropriate phone calls stop but Foggy starts to get the unnerving feeling someone’s watching him everywhere he goes. He mentions it to Matt who gives him a determined frowny face and a terse nod. Foggy assumes he gains a bodyguard dressed in red pleather but never sees nor hears the Devil.

Foggy does his best to ignore his gut feeling and get on with his life and both of his jobs.

A woman, who would only give him the name of Jenna, calls him late one night from a holding cell in Brooklyn. Allegedly, she had been drinking and driving. She was arrested and charged with a DWI but according to her there had been no formal testing to back up that statement.

“So, my question is,” Foggy says while scribbling away in his notepad, determined to keep all his thoughts together. “Why are you being detained on this? It seems like a trumped up charge from this corner.”

Jenna shifts and Foggy narrows his eyes.

“Unless you’re not telling me the whole story here.” Foggy stops writing and slouches back in his chair. “I’m still waiting on your record from the desk sergeant so I’m in the dark on this.”

“Look,” Jenna huffs and crosses her arms, turning her face away from Foggy. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I had a drinking problem when I was younger but-“ She turns back to him, stares him dead in the eye. “I’m clean now. Have been for five years.”

Foggy doesn’t have the built-in lie detector like Matt but he can typically tell when someone is bullshitting him. The woman sitting in front of him is stone cold sober and telling the truth as she knows it.

“Alright,” Foggy nods, finishes his last point in his notebook and flips it shut. “Give me a few minutes; I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“Thank you,” Jenna says softly just as the door is shutting behind him.

Foggy sags a bit on the other side, exhausted physically and mentally. He stands there for a moment, head bowed, before straightening his shoulders and putting his game face on.

Jenna is released within the next hour and Foggy sets her up with a cab to get home safely.

“New case?” a low voice says from behind him and Foggy swears up a storm.

“Don’t do that!” Foggy yells as he ducks into the closest alley, Daredevil dropping neatly from the fire escape.

“Sorry,” Matt mutters with a half shrug.

“Don’t be,” Foggy says while leaning up against one of the brick walls. “Not a good look for Daredevil.”

Matt nods before repeating, “New case?”

“Yeah, trumped up DWI for no apparent reason.”

“Think she was framed?”

Foggy eyes up Matt who’s standing stock still, hands clenched at his side.

“I don’t know, maybe, probably,” Foggy rambles on. “Wait, what are you even doing all the way out here?”

“You’re here.”

Foggy narrows his eyes.

“Isn’t this spider country?”

“That’s Queens, actually.”

Foggy rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall to start heading back to the main street.

“Well, thanks for keeping an eye on me but now I need to get home, try and get a couple hours of shut eye, then we’ll start fresh on this tomorrow.”

There’s no response and when Foggy glances over his shoulder there’s nobody else in the alleyway.

“Freaking ninja,” Foggy mutters to himself and hears a short laugh from the rooftop next to him.

~

A couple days later, as he’s working through a series of forms on behalf of Jenna, his burner phone rings. Foggy absentmindedly answers it and immediately voices start filtering through.

“Anna, we really don’t-“

“Edward, shush. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

Foggy stares through the window into the empty office and blinks.

“Mom?”

“Foggy?”

He can hear his father continuing on in the background.

“Did you call Foggy? I thought you were calling that stupid number. Anna, I don’t need Foggy’s help.”

It’s silent between Foggy and his mom. His father has always been a stubborn man, stuck in his way of doing everything himself, hardly asking for help in any form.

“I didn’t call Foggy,” Anna says softly.

Now, it’s quiet between all three of them and Foggy braces himself for what he thinks is about to happen.

“Please tell me my own son is not the asshole stealing work from local businesses – from our friends.”

Anna doesn’t respond and Foggy winces at the harsh tone. There’s a bit of static until a deeper breath is coming through the telephone.

“Foggy,” Edward says. “What in the world are you doing? Mr. Henderson might have to close up shop soon. He’s getting almost no business because why would people pay for a plumber when they can get it done for free?”

Foggy remembers Mr. Henderson. His oldest daughter, Stacey, used to babysit him and Brett.

“Dad, I didn’t mean for this to happen - it just did.”

“Well, stop.”

Foggy laughs humorlessly. That would of course be his father’s solution as if it were just that easy.

“I can’t, Dad,” Foggy says, almost pleading with this father to understand. “It’s more than just fixing some broken appliances. I’m helping people who have nowhere else to turn.”

Edward heaves a loud sigh. There’s a small click. Foggy puts his phone down on his desk followed by his head.

~

Foggy catches pneumonia halfway through November but ignores it beyond taking the prescribed antibiotics. Matt frowns at him every time they’re in the same room together and Foggy wonders what his lungs must sound like. Karen coddles him to no end which he can’t really complain about. There’s always a hot mug of something on his desk and she brings in a couple blankets for him to huddle under while working.

“Please tell me you’re at least resting after work and not running around doing home repairs,” Matt says wearily and there’s a tiny voice in the back of Foggy’s head which goes ‘ha! Now you know what it feels like, Murdock!’

Foggy just nods dutifully and takes a sip of his hot lemon water. He’s finished his first week of pills and his chest is already starting to feel less congested.

“I hope you’re not nodding at the blind man,” Matt says with a smirk on his face. Right, Karen is sitting at her desk and she still doesn’t officially know about the whole Daredevil thing. Foggy’s fairly sure she’s worked it out for herself with some of the looks she sends his way behind Matt’s back.

“No, sir,” Foggy croaks out.

Matt raises an eyebrow over his sunglasses but doesn’t repeat his original question. He’s fairly sure they both know Foggy is still answering his phone.

Two days later, in the middle of fiddling with a busted radiator, Foggy coughs to the point of passing out. Thankfully, the homeowner is there at the time and calls 911. He wakes up in the back of an ambulance and just knows Matt’s going to tear him a new one.

“You have got to be kidding me,” is the first thing Matt says upon stepping behind the curtain that separates Foggy’s bed in the emergency room from all the others.

“I wish I was, buddy,” Foggy manages out from behind an oxygen mask.

A doctor finally discharges Foggy into Matt’s care under strict instructions to continue with the antibiotics until the very last pill and a couple days rest in bed.

“Matt, I can’t,” Foggy starts as soon as they’re in a cab. “We have Jenna’s case and Mrs. Stevenson needs help putting insulator kits on her windows and Lisa Douglas needs-“

“Lisa Douglas,” Matt cuts him off with a stern voice. “Can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“But-“

“No,” Matt replies. “Stop it. Think about yourself for once, Foggy.”

Foggy pouts all the way back to his apartment and stays stony silent as Matt literally pushes him into bed.

“Now,” Matt says and Foggy thinks Matt would be a great father. He’s got the dad voice down pat. “Where is your phone?”

Foggy hands over his personal phone and promptly pulls the covers over himself.

“And your other one?”

Foggy doesn’t move.

“C’mon,” Matt tiredly says. “I need your other phone.”

Foggy burrows further into the comforters, trying to toe his socks off and not having much luck.

“Fine, I’m fairly certain I know where it is anyways.”

Matt starts wandering around the bedroom and Foggy wonders if Matt’s playing hot and cold with Foggy’s heartbeat. He comes to the conclusion he is when Foggy can feel his own pulse suddenly jackhammer as Matt picks up Foggy’s winter coat.

“Aha,” Matt mutters as he retrieves the phone from the inside pocket.

“Matt,” Foggy slurs, eyelids finally refusing to open any more.

“Get some sleep, Foggy.”

Foggy doesn’t hear his bedroom door shut.

~

“I don’t know how you do it,” Karen says while puttering around his kitchen twenty-four hours later.

“Do what?”

He listens to the clink of a spoon against ceramic. His eyes focus on the muted television set, the channel seven news program showing a heart-whelming story of a family being reunited with their lost dog.

“Everything, really,” Karen replies, setting down the mugs on the coffee table. Foggy glares at her until she rolls her eyes and readjusts them onto coasters.

“Well, I know I am a perfect specimen,” Foggy mutters half heartedly. He’s feeling a lot better, having slept for at least fourteen hours straight, but the sickness is still tiring.

“You know what I mean,” she laughs and waves a hand at him. “With all the repairs and such. I think we got like five calls for broken down fridges. What do you even do with a broken fridge?”

Foggy frowns, a list of possible causes and fixes running through his mind. Matt and Karen were apparently fielding all the phone calls and helping out where they could.

“Matt still has the phone?”

Karen nods before taking a small sip of her drink.

“Yeah. Imagine calling for a repairman and having a blind guy show up?”

Foggy snorts but his attention is quickly captured by the news program. He unmutes the television to hear the anchor detailing a fiery drug bust led by none other than Daredevil.

“Matt can manage,” Foggy says softly, watching a clip of Daredevil flip through the air. Foggy thinks it was a bit unnecessary but he’s not the ninja in this reality.

“With moves like that, yeah he can,” Karen says way too innocently and it takes all of Foggy’s law school training not to react like he’s in a soap opera.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Karen hums happily over her mug and Foggy keeps his eyes trained on the television.

~

After a couple more days of rest, Matt reluctantly hands back the phone.

“Don’t let it get that bad again, okay?” Matt instructs, holding the phone just out of Foggy’s reach.

“Yes, dad,” Foggy replies which gets a small smile out of Matt.

“You get some ridiculous phone calls,” Matt remarks while finally letting the phone drop into Foggy’s open palm.

“Did Ms. Jones call you again about her cat in the tree?”

“She did, actually. About five times.”

“It’s actually a squirrel,” Foggy informs Matt, hoping Matt didn’t actually go out each time to Ms. Jones’ place. “She doesn’t own a cat.”

Matt laughs, full-bodied, and Foggy grins at him.

~

It’s only a week after his lungs stop hurting that Foggy is shoved into an alleyway, back pressed against brick. A man wearing a black ski mask points a gun in Foggy’s face. Foggy’s briefcase slips from his fingers, hands rising above his head in surrender.

Foggy tries to speak, his lips mouth vowels and consonants, but nothing comes out.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” the man spits, saliva hitting Foggy’s cheek. He doesn’t dare flinch.

The words ‘Matt, please hear me, please help me’ run through his mind, jumbling into shorter phrases the longer he stares down the muzzle of the gun.

“Stop helping people,” the stranger continues, gun steady like his voice. “You’re ruining people’s lives. Good people are going to lose their jobs, their homes, because of you.”

_Please tell me my own son is not the asshole stealing work from local businesses – from our friends._

Foggy wants to break down, wants to tell this lunatic he’ll stop, wants to make his father proud. Tears well up in his eyes as he goes to stutter out a wet ‘please’ but it doesn’t get past his throat.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll be back.”

The man turns and run. Foggy falls to his hands and knees, eyes clenched shut. He flinches as a heavy hand lands on his back, between his shoulder blades.

“It’s me, Foggy,” Matt whispers in his ear and Foggy lets out a soft prayer.

~

Foggy turns off the burner phone. He shoves it in the back of his sock drawer. He goes to work. He goes home. He sleeps. Then does it all over again.

He ignores Karen and Matt whenever the subject starts to be breached. Matt learns to not press but Karen continues to try and push her way into Foggy’s brain.

“You’re strong, Foggy, don’t give up,” she says while leaving a bear claw and coffee on his desk.

“People need you,” she says while bringing him files.

“You’re a good person, don’t let some asshole keep you from being that,” she says while shrugging on her jacket, ready to head out for the day.

Foggy steadily hums his acknowledgement of her words but doesn’t comment on them.

Bess Mahoney pays him a visit the next night.

“You’re not an idiot,” she bluntly states over the casserole dish she shoves into Foggy’s hands the minute he opens his door. “So stop acting like one.”

“Hello to you, too, Bess,” Foggy replies, rolling his eyes at her back as she strides into his apartment, dumping her winter jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.

“That’s some shepherd’s pie for you.” Foggy brings it into his kitchen and lifts the top to take in the aroma of perfectly spiced beef, potatoes, and vegetables.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Foggy asks as he reaches into a cupboard to grab a plate for himself, stomach rumbling at the food. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, dear,” Bess says and Foggy ignore the way she’s obviously eyeing his apartment in slight distaste. It’s a bit of a mess, he hasn’t had time to properly clean in months, but it’s definitely not the worst state she’s seen it in. “This is just a quick visit to knock some sense into you.”

“I have more than enough sense, thank you.”

Bess steps into the kitchen and stares hard at Foggy.

“That’s not true and you know it.” She sighs. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? Mrs. Stevenson has been calling me worried about you because she can’t get in touch.”

Foggy pauses in piling food onto his plate. He hadn’t meant for anyone to worry. He shakes his head and slops another spoonful onto the growing pile.

“I’m sure Brett told you what happened.”

Bess shakes her head.

“Open investigation, can’t say much.”

Foggy replaces the lid on the casserole dish and takes his time putting it away in his fridge.

“A guy shoved a gun in my face; told me to stop what I was doing or he’d come back.”

Foggy does his best not to look at Bess’ face. He hears the small gasp of air escape her lungs and is fairly certain if he sees the worry and concern written across her face he’ll just breakdown and he can’t do that right now.

“Oh, Foggy,” she says softly. Foggy ignores her in favor of shoving food into his mouth.

“Look,” Bess continues. “I know it’s going to be tough but you need to keep helping people.”

“Why do I _need_ to do anything?” The question bursts from his chest against his will. “Why can’t I just live a normal life like everyone else? Why do I need to be the one?” He can feel tears starting to well up so he takes another large bite of the shepherd’s pie.

Bess takes a couple steps until she’s standing next to Foggy, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She squeezes it and Foggy leans into the comforting touch.

“Because you’re a good person, Foggy, and I know you. It will eat you alive if you don’t help people.” She gives a small laugh. “You’ve been helping people since you were a kid. Remember when Suzie Johnson had trouble riding a bike and you taught her how to? Or even Brett. He was going to fail math that one year and you spent half your free time tutoring so he wouldn’t.”

Foggy nods. He does remember those, along with a dozen other times he’s helped people growing up. His mother used to just smile at him, pride written in every feature, and his chest would just fill up with love for the world. Then he grew up.

“People are going to lose their jobs because of me, because I’m doing the work for free.”

Bess snorts in his ear.

“Honey, it’s not your fault the economy is in the dumps. I really don’t think your stealing any business. The people you’re helping – do you think they could actually afford to pay for anything? They probably would have just gone without.”

Foggy stills. He hadn’t thought of it that way. People would’ve starved or gone without heat because they couldn’t afford a professional.

“There we go,” Bess says with another squeeze to his shoulder. “There’s the brain I know chugging away.”

She pulls away and heads for her jacket.

“Enjoy that pie and use that lawyer brain of yours to figure out what to do next.”

Over the next month, Foggy does just that and things finally start coming together.

Jenna’s case gets wrapped up fairly quickly when Matt stumbles across the fact that one of the higher ups at the precinct was an abusive ex-boyfriend of hers trying to get revenge.

“One of Fisk’s that got overlooked?” Foggy asks over celebratory drinks. Matt shakes his head.

“Not that I can tell. Just your run of the mill abusive asshole.”

Foggy tries his best not to overwork himself. With the help of Karen and Matt, he finds good, reliable local businesses and starts working out deals with them for cheaper, more affordable options for those in a bind.

He also creates a network of sorts with him at the middle. Those who can spare cook extra food for him to pass onto those who are struggling between paychecks. Carter Jackson is an electrician so Foggy calls on him when dealing with faulty wiring. Lisa Douglas knits sweaters and hats and socks and anything else she can think of during the cold months. Every person Foggy has helped in the past steps forward with whatever they can do to pass on the good will.

His father calls him one day and apologizes. They talk for a long time over the phone and Foggy feels like a huge weight is lifted from his shoulders.

“So,” Foggy says, nearing the end of their conversation. “What were you guys calling about that one time?”

“Oh.” His father coughs a bit nervously. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s been dealt with. Uh, your mom wants to say good bye.”

Foggy grins into the silence of the phone exchanging hands.

“Hello Foggy,” his mom says. “I just wanted to say we’re very proud of what you’re doing and if you ever need anything let us know. Candace makes a very good borscht, you know.”

“Thanks mom. I appreciate it.” He pauses then decides to try and wheedle the information out of his mom. She just laughs at his question.

“Your father couldn’t get the computer to connect to the internet,” she says. “I ended up asking Sharon’s son, from down the hall, you know Sharon. Anyways, I asked her son about it. Turns out, when we got that new router over the summer it changed the name on us so now it works.”

Foggy chuckles.

“You know your father. Anyways, I need to go Foggy,” his mother continues on. “You have a great day. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Foggy gets out before his mom hangs up.

Overall, at the end of the day, Foggy is proud of what he’s managed to overcome and accomplish. He may not be Daredevil but he is making a difference in his neighborhood one household and legal emergency at a time.


End file.
